


What Happens in Vegas

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fake Names, Gambling, M/M, Spit As Lube, Tax Fraud, sex in a dirty alleyway, sex on a fur rug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tourists were the fucking worst. This was his city, they didn't understand the complexity or magnitude of what was going on around them. All they saw were the titty shows, the glittering lights, the flowing booze. They'd lose twenty bucks in the penny slots, get a hangover, and call it a wild weekend. They had no fucking clue.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuri drew in a deep breath as he looked down his nose at the table of grinning idiots who sat before him, clearly hype as fuck for their _Las Vegas Adventure._ “Bachelor party?” He guessed dryly to a round of cheers and hearty slaps on the back for the man who sat in the center of them all, “Thought so. What do you want?” He pulled his battered notepad from the pocket of his garish pink apron, snapping his gum and pointedly clicking his pen as he stared them down, trying to get the point across that he wasn't in the mood for their bullshit or to be a part of their _Rowdy Vegas Experience._

“I'll take the breakfast double with extra pancakes… and extra chocolate chips in the pancakes,” the pudgy one piped up first, casting a sheepish glance at the silver haired man at his side, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”

Yuri nearly drove one of the butter knives of questionable cleanliness through his own eye socket. Tourists were the fucking worst. This was _his_ city, they didn't understand the complexity or magnitude of what was going on around them. All they saw were the titty shows, the glittering lights, the flowing booze. They'd lose twenty bucks in the penny slots, get a hangover, and call it a wild weekend. They had no fucking clue.

He slapped the giant order down for the chef to fill then excused himself out the back door before bothering with their drinks, in desperate need of a cigarette after no less than three others had quoted the “what happens in Vegas” line at him in reference to their shitty breakfast choices. He had barely gotten it lit before one of the guys from his table rounded the corner, a half assed smile pulling at his lips as he spotted Yuri.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I'll get your coffee in a minute,” he huffed through exhaled smoke, squeezing green eyes shut against his fastly developing headache.

“Actually I was hoping to bum one of those from you. I left mine in my other jacket and assumed this is where you ran off to.”

Yuri looked the man up and down with a curious quirk to his expertly plucked brow. His jeans definitely weren't designer but they fit him well enough, a leather jacket hung from broad shoulders, and he had one of those trendy undercuts that everyone seemed to be sporting these days. Yuri decided he was attractive enough to be permitted near him, fishing his pack from the pocket of his apron and tossing it to the tourist, a little more force behind the throw than was necessary. “Lighter’s inside.” He pressed his back to the grimy brick wall of the cafe, one arm folded across his chest as he gazed out across the street at nothing in particular.

“Thanks. Sorry for my friends’ enthusiasm, by the way. They don't do shit like this very often.”

Yuri lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, snatching the cigarettes back then they were offered. “And you do?”

“No, but I DJ some nights at local clubs, so I like to think my life is slightly more exciting than theirs.”

“A DJ, hmm?” Yuri let his gaze slide back over to his forced companion, careful to not let any interest show in his expression.

“Just as a hobby. My name’s Otabek,” the taller man extended a hand to Yuri, which the blonde reluctantly accepted after making a point to show the gesture was an inconvenience to him.

“Nicky.”

“I figured as much from your nametag.”

Yuri brought the cigarette back to his lips to hide his unwilling smirk, impressed that this stranger was keeping up. “So a bachelor party. Gonna hit up Crazy Horse, smoke cigars with a Bud Light in hand, then lose some money in whatever casino catches your eye?”

That got a chuckle out of Otabek, deep brown eyes flicking down to Yuri in time to catch sight of the slightest tilt of his lips. “No strip clubs, I'm afraid.”

“The groom’s bride put her foot down?”

“Isabella encouraged it, actually. He vetoed the idea. Jesus didn't approve.”

“I'll give him shit for it when I bring your drinks. Speaking of which, I should get back inside.” Yuri tossed his cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the pavement with the toe of his well worn combat boot.

“By the way, I don't plan on losing in the casinos.”

Yuri paused his retreat, pairing a condescending grin with an amused lift of his brows. “Is that so? And what's your game, Mr. DJ?”

“Blackjack.”

Yuri’s only response was a laugh so mocking in tone that it brought a hot flush to the back of Otabek’s neck, creeping up into the tips of his ears as he watched the blonde disappear back inside the diner.

They didn't speak for the rest of the meal, but Otabek was at least 90% certain his contained no spit. Not as much could be said for his companions; he _did_ warn them to take it down a notch. Yuri came around one last time to drop off their checks (leaving them with the ominous warning “don't eat the food at the Luxor buffet” rather than a thank you for choosing the diner), and Otabek felt bold enough to scribble his phone number beneath a fifty dollar tip. It was ten times the cost of his food, surely “Nicky” would be impressed and call him for a good time. There really was a sense of no repercussions that permeated the town, like he could be whoever he wanted to be, do whatever he wanted to do, and when it came time to pack his bags, it would all be left behind. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, as the saying goes.

 

* * *

 

The casinos ended up being a bit beyond JJ’s comfort level when he realized that all of the waitresses aggressively offering them drinks had their breasts spilling out of costume satin and an affinity for touching him a little lower than could strictly be considered personable. So they had grabbed their light beer, grabbed some cigars, and somehow ended up playing fucking carnival games at Circus Circus. The groom-to-be was having the time of his life with arms full of plush toy prizes to bring back to Isabella, but Otabek wanted to lay his head beneath the sledge hammer of the strongman game. “We’re in Las Vegas, Jean,” he had groaned when he realized that the rundown casino wasn’t just a silly detour, but the disapproval in his voice fell on deaf ears. His phone rang right as Yuuri suggested they seek out cotton candy, Otabek grateful for the first time in his life to be receiving a call, quickly excusing himself, insisting it was important. In truth, it was a number he didn’t recognize. But, hoping it would be something time consuming, he swiped his finger across the screen to accept.

“Mr. DJ!” A laughing voice sang out over the general chatter of a crowded room, the dinging of slot machines, and the clinking of drinks.

“Nicky?”

There was a pause, almost like Otabek had guessed wrong, but another giggle broke the spell, “That’s right, Mr. DJ. Meet me at Caesar’s Palace, let’s play some blackjack.”  

Well… _that_ was unexpected. He had all but forgotten his moment of bravery earlier. But now here he was faced with a choice. He could stay with his friends, it _was_ JJ’s bachelor party… though they seemed to have no interest in doing anything worthwhile. _Or_ he could see what awaited him at Caesar’s Palace. With the way they were going, they would probably turn in within an hour anyways, right? He could go have his fun then meet back up with his friends in the morning to hold hands, go to church, window shop or whatever lame activity JJ wanted for his last weekend of freedom.

_That was work that called. They need me to finish a spreadsheet tonight. I’ll meet up with you guys in the morning. Just text me the plan._

He finished the text with the thumb’s up emoji and minimal guilt, having adequately justified the situation in his head.

\---

Finding the blonde in Caesar’s Palace wasn’t nearly as difficult as Otabek might have anticipated. He was seated at the table with the biggest crowd gathered, thin legs crossed elegantly over one another... a white fur coat draped over his narrow shoulders, diamonds dripping from his throat? What the fuck? Was this the same server in scuffed boots and denim shorts that he had met earlier in America's Dingiest Diner? A hand lifted in the air to beckon him over when green eyes met brown, more jewels encircling a tiny wrist, the blonde’s attention divided as a glass of champagne was placed into his fingers and the finely dressed man beside him said something in his ear. He tossed his head in a beautiful laugh, murmuring back before pulling Otabek in to press a kiss to his cheek and using the moment of closeness to whisper, “With this crowd, my name is Misha.” He didn’t get a chance to question what the hell was going on, the man beside Nicky? Misha? slamming his palm onto the edge of the table and loudly declaring that they were ready to get started.

The seated players began pushing chips towards the middle of the table, Otabek looking from one to the next, eyes growing gradually wider. “Did you just… did you just bet ten thousand dollars?”

“We’re just warming up!” The loud man spoke for Yuri, slipping a hand around the blonde’s slim waist which earned him an overdramatic roll of bright eyes. The general attitude of the table was so _flippant_. These people were betting tens of thousands of dollars, and most weren’t even paying attention to the game, instead chatting amongst themselves, laughing, drinking. He caught Yuri’s gaze flicking to the table, over the cards, for a split second without ever removing himself from the conversation, still laughing at the appropriate time and taking small sips of his champagne.

“Want in, Mr. DJ?” Yuri questioned with a lazy smirk.

“There's no way I could afford this table limit,” Otabek admitted, not even the slightest bit ashamed. He was so in awe; this was extravagance on a level he had never before witnessed and they claimed to just be _warming up_?

Almost like he could read his mind, Yuri explained, “We play out here for the energy and atmosphere. It's more fun. But there's a fifty thousand max on these public tables, so if we want to really throw down, we move to the private high limit room.”

“No offense, but weren't you waiting tables earlier, _Misha_? Did I scribble too many zeros on my tip or something?”

The other high rollers at the table paused their chatter, drinks halfway to their lips as they looked quizzically to Otabek, trying to determine if he was making a joke or just plain crazy. Yuri burst out laughing and they followed suit, the blonde leaning into Otabek, a hand placed on his bicep. “You’re so funny tonight, Beka! Yes, I was waiting tables in my Hermès fur.” He wiggled his shoulders in the snow white fur much to the delight of those around him, but his fingers dug into the man’s arm in warning.

Otabek had no idea what was going on, so instead of asking more questions that the blonde would no doubt artfully dodge, he focused on the game. He enjoyed blackjack, no expert by any means but he understood the basic strategy enough to know that the way Yuri was playing was just downright stupid until suddenly it wasn’t. He would make dumb mistakes losing ten, twenty, thirty thousand dollars, hardly paying attention, then hit a hot streak and sweep the table. It happened twice, the same pattern of losing and then sudden, devastating wins, before it finally clicked in Otabek’s head what was going on. His jaw fell slack as he stared awestruck at the charismatic little thing before him, utterly enthralled.

The champagne began flowing more loosely, Yuri ending up with an entire bottle replacing the glass in his hand, everyone’s movements getting a little sloppier, laughs a little louder, bets higher until they hit the table maximum. Otabek’s head spun whether from the copious amounts of booze being passed his way or from the absurdity of it all, he wasn’t sure, but he did notice that while Yuri drank with the rest of them, his eyes became no less sharp, still darting to the table between polite laughs.

Eventually the man in the suit beside Yuri pushed his chair back away from the table and bowed low to the blonde, sending him into a fit of giggles. “I am not worthy! Once again, my fortune takes a hit thanks to you, Misha. You keep me humble.” Yuri extended a hand out, the man taking it and pressing a reverent kiss to the jeweled tiger ring on his middle finger. “What do you say we take this party back to my suite?” he addressed their group as a whole.

Yuri took another swig from the bottle of champagne, looping an arm through Otabek’s. “Only if my friend here can come.”

“He’s a bit… underdressed... don’t you think?”

“To drink through the hotel’s stock of Dom in your suite? Not everyone struts about in five thousand dollar suits, Christophe.”

“Says he in the five thousand dollar fur and five _hundred_ thousand dollar diamonds.”

“I like sparkly things,” Yuri explained with an unapologetic shrug.

“And they suit you marvelously, love. Let’s go.” Christophe threw his arm around a brunette man’s neck and led the way, everyone trailing behind him, including some random civilians hoping to sneak in unnoticed.

Otabek kept his steps slow to force them to lag behind the group, pulling Yuri into a small alcove off the main hallway.

“If you don’t want to go up to his suite, we can--”

“You’re counting cards, aren’t you?”

The blonde’s full lips settled into a neutral line, one brow quirking in a perfect mask of confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t be coy with me, you’re counting cards, you’re working the system. I watched you turn ten thousand dollars into sixty thousand without batting an eye.”

“I’m just lucky is all.”

“Bullshit.”

Yuri lifted a thin hand to his lips to hide his amused smirk, finally shifting his glittering, amused eyes up to meet Otabek’s, “Gonna tell on me?”

“You’re living the movie 21 right now.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know, that movie where the MIT students count cards and get busted.”

“I’m not smart enough for MIT.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Yuri.”

“Why did you just tell me that?”

“Because you’re fascinated with what I do and want to be a part of it. You wouldn’t rat me out.”

“You think so?”

“I can teach you all that I know, Mr. DJ.”

 

* * *

 

“Why the fuck do you work in a diner when you live _here_?” Otabek drunkenly demanded as he was let into Yuri’s penthouse later that night… or rather, early the next morning. The architecture was clean and trendy, offset with extravagant decor in jewel tones and gold, art on the walls that had definitely been bought at auction rather than the discount section of Target.

“I need to have a cover. Counting cards isn’t illegal, just frowned upon by the casinos, but the IRS is unaware of my winnings thanks to these other identities I set up. If they look into me, I’m just a server at a shitty diner, barely scraping by thanks to generous tips from customers who want my ass.”

Otabek didn’t even have the willpower to dispute that jab, eyes locked on the blonde as he shed his designer coat, tossing it carelessly across one of the chairs at his kitchen island, next reaching to undo the diamond choker around his neck. He set the jewels out on the counter with about the same amount of care that one would their keys, nothing about this wealthy lifestyle he led seeming to faze him in the slightest.

“So you want to learn how to ‘work the system’?” Yuri questioned once he had peeled off his thigh high boots, arching his back in a stretch so deliciously catlike.

“Right now all I wanna do is kiss you.”

That bold honesty was how Otabek found himself laying Yuri Plisetsky down onto a rug of rich brown fur for the very first time, ghosting his lips across every inch of silk cream skin, delighting in the feel of that slim body in his arms. Yuri mewled in his ear with each roll of his hips, the movements languid rather than hurried, Otabek determined to take his time and remember every moment of this night, half afraid he would wake up in the morning in his shitty motel room, the blonde temptress having merely been a figment in a dream. Real life didn’t work like this. Real life didn’t involve high stakes gambling, two thousand dollar bottles of champagne, high roller suites, or a person like _this_ beneath him. But it felt real, so real, and so perfect as the blonde snuggled up to his side once Otabek pulled out of him, dainty fingers curled sweetly against his chest, warm breath tickling his skin with a sleepy, whispered “good night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at h3llcat.tumblr.com or on twitter [@h311cat](https://twitter.com/h311cat)


	2. Chapter 2

Otabek stalked around the outside edge of the tables, sipping at his whiskey but keeping his eyes trained on Yuri, watching for  _ something _ . It could be as small as picking his champagne glass up with his left hand instead of his right, letting his mink fur stole slip down his shoulders, or… there it was; one graceful hand reached up to tuck blonde hair back behind his ear. The table was hot. 

Otabek slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks in an attempt to look casual and sauntered across the room to take the seat on the other side of the sleazy, middle aged man beside Yuri whose flirting tactics bordered on harassment. Yuri rolled with it, though, charming as ever as he tossed his head with his laughs, flashed blindingly beautiful smiles, and shot back with razor-sharp wit. “You two look like you’re having so much fun over here, mind if I join you?” 

The man who definitely needed to learn restraint when faced with hair gel turned to look at him with thinly veiled irritation, clearly displeased at having his time with Yuri interrupted. “The more the merrier,” he grinned, the expression empty and not reaching his beady eyes, “What’s your drink?” 

“Whiskey, neat.” 

The waitress was summoned over and the man ordered them all drinks, a pathetic attempt to woo Yuri with small shows of wealth. 

“Ah, you didn’t need to do that. Next round is on me. I’m Derrick Johnson, but friends call me DJ,” Otabek extended a hand, delighting in the way Yuri had to cover his mouth to hide an amused smirk at his choice in name for the night. 

“Richard,” in typical alpha male fashion, he gripped Otabek’s hand a little too hard, shook a little too rough,  _ establishing his dominance _ through the gesture. 

“Mind if I call you Dick? And you are?” He reached a hand to Yuri. 

“Alexei,” his blonde lover replied in an accent drastically exaggerated from the usual subtle lilts to his voice. 

“A name suiting such a beauty,” he brought his hand to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, chuckling against them at Richard’s roll of his eyes, “But enough pleasantries, I hope you two are ready to lose your fortunes.” 

JJ’s bachelor weekend in Vegas had happened nearly a year ago. After his surreal night with Yuri, he went back to his friends to finish celebrating the man’s last day of freedom, and then… back to his old life. But always nagging in the back of his mind were thoughts of a stunning, wild boy living the most extravagant, exciting of lives. He would be sitting at his desk, typing up expense reports or something equally soul sucking and receive texts from Yuri with pictures from the night before. Selfies with bottles of champagne more expensive than his monthly rent, snaps of the Las Vegas Strip lit up brilliant shades of neon, pictures others took of him dancing on tables in high rollers suites with men in expensive suits and women in designer dresses, draped in his beloved furs and jewels, huge smiles lighting up an already radiant face. Each photo made him  _ homesick _ for a world he had only been a part of for less than a day, for someone he had only had the privilege to hold once. Then one night he was woken by an incoming facetime call from Yuri. The blonde was drunk, sitting in the hallway of some hotel with a bottle cradled to his chest and mascara tears running down his cheeks, sapphires around his throat glinting in the dim lighting and chinchilla coat askew. “Mr. DJ… I miss you,” he had whimpered through his sniffles, watery green eyes staring into the camera, “You should be here with me. Why aren’t you here?” Otabek paid out of his lease the very next morning, packed unnecessary belongings up into a storage unit, and hopped on a plane to Nevada. The whole plane ride he wondered if he was making a giant mistake. He barely knew Yuri, they had spent  _ one night _ together. And this life he was going to wasn’t exactly  _ legal _ . He had always followed the rules, never broke the law, and now he was going to willingly commit tax fraud and make a living by bending casino policies on gambling? It was so magnificently  _ unlike him _ that he could only laugh through the nauseating regret settling into the pit of his stomach. But then the plane landed and waiting for him in baggage claim was his spitfire in denim shorts and a ratty tshirt, having just come off a shift at the diner, and one smile was all it took for him to never look back. 

Yuri taught him all the tricks of his “profession,” the two spending countless hours with a deck of cards until Otabek got it, and they devised a system of cues they could watch for from one another to indicate when a table was hot or when it was time to back out. The final step was taking him shopping so he “wouldn’t get kicked out of the high stakes rooms,” according to Yuri, and then they were ready. Now a year later, they were spinning new identities, making a game out of pretending to not know one another as they flirted with some of the world’s wealthiest people and swept the tables. They partied in the most extravagant high roller suites, the most exclusive clubs, Yuri a smiling, laughing, tipsy blur of golden hair and glittering jewels as he danced and danced and danced until he stumbled back to Otabek with desire lighting flames in his eyes. They would hurry back to their penthouse, pilfered bottles of expensive booze in hand, wallets fat with the night’s winnings, and make love until the sun came up. Every moment he spent with Yuri was thrilling, each day a new adventure that the blonde would cook up for them. He had made the right decision, he hadn’t doubted it once since he arrived. 

The greasy haired man threw up his hands as Otabek won yet again. “I give up. Lady Luck is favoring you tonight.” He stood from his chair and shrugged on his suit jacket, turning to flash a suggestive grin at Yuri, “What do you say we continue this party in my room, sweetheart?” 

“Were you invited to stay in the Napoleon Suite?” 

“Of course.” 

“I am rather fond of it,” Yuri commented wistfully as he drew his furs tighter around his shoulders, pretending to think about it, “I don’t know… what are  _ you  _ doing tonight, DJ?” He peeked around Richard to get an eyeful of his lover, a needy shine to emerald eyes as they raked him up and down, taking in the expertly tailored suit he had picked out himself. They planned to hit up the Wynn next, but that was seeming less and less important by the minute. 

“Him?” the stranger he had been flirting with all night sounded utterly disgusted, “I’ve been buying you drinks all night, don’t you think you should give me a bit of your time?” 

Yuri’s brows shot up, a smirk curling his lips. He was about to let him know exactly what he thought of that idea, but the words caught in his throat when he spotted two tall, bulky men in black suits heading their way. “Nope, your hair is gross and you smell like salami, but thanks for the champagne. Come on, DJ, I need you to fuck my brains out ASAP.” 

Otabek took the hand offered to him, but didn’t move, confusion writing itself on his face. Yuri had dropped the thick Russian accent and was acting out of character, a first for him, he was usually so dedicated. “I don’t--”

“We need to go  _ now _ ,” Yuri hissed, giving his hand a tug and nodding in the direction of the security guards. 

“Oh… ohhhh,” it clicked in Otabek’s head what was going on and he wasted no more time, shoveling as many of his gaming chips as he could into his pockets before following his shorter lover. They wove between tables, aiming for the thickest parts of the crowd in an attempt to lose the men tailing them, but they were still hot on their heels. 

“Shit, shit, shit… as soon as we’re outside,  _ run _ ,” Yuri murmured under his breath as he tried to walk faster in his designer boots. 

The sliding doors opened before them, and Yuri was about to take off when he was suddenly swept off his feet and thrown over Otabek’s shoulder. He shrieked with delight as they dashed down the Strip like this, dodging oblivious tourists and ducking down side paths, his hair a wild mess about his face. 

“Did we lose them?” Otabek panted, still grinning as he turned a sharp corner and stopped to catch his breath. 

Yuri pushed his hair back over his shoulders as he was set down, peeking around the building they hid themselves behind to search for the hulking figures looming over the dense crowds. “Yeah,” he laughed, “Shit, that was close.” He was caught in Otabek’s arms as he turned back around, the taller man pressing him gently to the wall and covering his lips with his own. The gesture was sweet, but Yuri was having none of it, still heated from how fucking hot his lover was, and now fired up from the chase. He hooked one skinny leg around Otabek’s and ground his hips forward while trying to deepen the kiss, earning him a chuckle and hands pressing to his cheeks to pull him away. 

“Anyone could see us here. Haven’t we had enough close calls for the night?”

Yuri huffed, thin brows knitting together, but stubbornly refusing to admit that Otabek had a point. “Fine, if you don’t want me, let’s just go home,” he pouted, turning his back to his boyfriend but letting his stole slip down his bare shoulder, exposing more of his skin. He started to walk away, a swing to his hips, but was quickly snatched back and drawn into a far more passionate kiss. 

“You know there isn’t a single second of the day that I  _ don’t  _ want you, brat,” Otabek murmured into the kiss, trailing his lips across his cheek and down his neck, “I just can’t stand the thought of someone else seeing your body the way only I’m supposed to. But you like that, don’t you? The chance that anyone could happen by and see? You want someone to watch me fuck you?” He dug his teeth into a prominent collarbone, drawing a needy moan from his blonde lover. “Is that what you want? For some tourists to watch as I pound you into the wall?” 

“Y-yes… yes, fuck… yes,” Yuri gasped, hands darting between them to grab for Otabek’s belt. 

While Yuri made quick work of it and his zipper, Otabek dragged him further back the alley to allow them a little more privacy, using a dumpster for cover. “You naughty thing. Look at you out here in your fur and diamonds, putting on a high class act when all you want is to be fucked in the grime.” 

So the incident with the security guards had gotten Otabek riled up too, Yuri noted with a smirk, his partner’s newfound fervor a welcome surprise. He moaned encouragement, rewarded with rough hands turning him around to face the wall. He braced himself against it as his leather leggings were tugged down his thighs, just far enough to give Otabek the access he needed. 

Otabek stuck his fingers between Yuri’s lips, the blonde obediently coating them in saliva so he could more easily slip them inside him. It didn’t take long at all for Yuri’s body to relax around the stretching fingers, pliant, willing, and more than ready. “Just fuck me already,” he whined, earning the title of  _ brat  _ that had been bestowed upon him minutes prior. 

Otabek obliged, sliding his thick cock in to the hilt in one motion, but paused once fully seated, clapping a hand over Yuri’s mouth to stifle sinful moans as the sound of footsteps and laughter approached. Neither of them  _ really _ cared if they were caught, they certainly weren’t the first people to fuck in an alleyway in Vegas, but it was thrilling in a way to play at caution. Once the small crowd had passed, he rolled his hips steadily up into the petite blonde, slow, long, but powerful thrusts that left his lover gasping. He slipped his fingers between his lips once more to quiet him, groaning into the baby soft skin of his neck as a lewd tongue lapped at them. “You’re perfect, Yuri,” he murmured in his ear, biting lightly down on the lobe to earn another wanton moan around his fingers, “My beautiful, dirty, clever little love; a perfect slut only for me. You’re doing so good, taking my cock in the dark and the dirt like you were made for it.” 

The praise pushed Yuri over the edge, spilling himself against the grimy brick wall with a high pitched cry, his muscles clenching with his release bringing Otabek over with him. Otabek buried his face in the top of Yuri’s perfumed hair to catch his breath, but now that their lust had been sated,  _ actual  _ worry over getting caught with his pants down sunk in. He pulled out of Yuri, taking the briefest moment to admire the milkiness of his own seed dripping down the backs of pale thighs before he focused again on getting them both redressed. 

“Your pants might be ruined,” he informed Yuri regretfully as he was forced to pull fine leather up over his messy little ass. 

“That’s alright. You can just buy me new ones, high roller,” the blonde winked and held a hand out, lacing their fingers together when Otabek took it.  

They started back down the Strip towards their penthouse, clasped hands swinging gently between them as they enjoyed the night lights of this city they had made their own. 

“Let’s go to the Bellagio tomorrow. They have that patisserie I like so much.”

“Anything you want, my love,” Otabek agreed. And so their next adventure was set. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at h3llcat.tumblr.com or on twitter [@h311cat](https://twitter.com/h311cat)


End file.
